


On Sunday Mornings

by 3dnygma



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Iceberg Lounge, M/M, Oswald's POV, POV Third Person, Penguin's Lullaby, Piano, Post S3 Finale, Present Tense, frozen!Ed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3dnygma/pseuds/3dnygma
Summary: On Sunday mornings, the Iceberg Lounge seems to put on another dress.





	On Sunday Mornings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [opalescentheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalescentheart/gifts).



> I just love getting emotional over frozen!Ed and their interactions in 2x09, so here's a drabble of exactly that. Hope you enjoy it!

On Sunday mornings, the Iceberg Lounge seems to put on another dress. During nights, the blue and purple lights create a cold, stylish ambience that never fails to impress. During nights, it’s full of well-dressed individuals, members of Gotham’s elite, who fill the giant hall with unnecessary small-talk and fake compliments. During nights, Oswald Cobblepot feels like the king of Gotham City once again, residing in his majestic, cold castle.

On Sunday mornings, however, the Iceberg Lounge seems to wear casual clothing. The giant logo may still be hanging on one of its walls – but there isn’t really anything that manages to scream “Penguin” to the everyday individual. Almost, that is. Because the heart of the Lounge is ever remaining and fulfilling everyone with its giant presence. On those Sunday mornings, Oswald spends some minutes in the Lounge, completely by himself, staring at the ice and pouring himself one or two drinks. And each time, the ice stares back at him. It stares with brown, captivating eyes and an expression of utter fear and shock. The Penguin loves smiling back at the defeated Edward Nygma, even though his proud smile is losing strength with each Sunday.

Because with each time, Oswald seems to notice more pain on Ed’s face – and the eye-contact between him and the statue becomes shorter. This time, he decides to spend more focus on the suit, particularly its colour. Looking back, he should have tricked Edward into wearing a different one before letting Victor freeze him. Green really doesn’t go well with purple. Especially _that_ green, which is clearly a colour that only a dramatic showman like the Riddler would decide to wear voluntary.  
Maybe the lightning could fix some of it; he should contact one of the staff members about that sometime.

As for now, Oswald decides to take a seat somewhere close in order to rest his leg, eventually heading to the piano. One of the main reasons on why he decided to get one was because it wonderfully expanded the club’s intellectual, cool atmosphere. He had even hired a pianist, who would occasionally visit the club and play some pieces to pose as background music. Secondly, he really enjoyed the little piano that used to be at Fish’s former club – and the old piano that Oswald and his mother used to have in their old apartment.

Admittedly, Oswald never got to learn more than the basics. Gertrud knew how to play a few pieces and taught him how to play those - he ended up playing them over and over again, until Gertrud couldn't hear the melody anymore. Them playing the piano used to be one of Oswald’s happiest memories but nowadays, it gives him emotional pain to think about those times.

Oswald’s eyes wander to the keys, searching for the C. He finds it quickly and presses that key multiple times.

Gertrud. If only she would be able to see her son right now, back at the top – with a lucrative business and a newfound, freakish family. Finally, someone to share his empire with.

He vividly remembers the pride that she showcased after Oswald started running Fish's former club. Nevertheless, he would never be able to fully know how she'd react to the Iceberg Lounge.

_“Well, I believe the answer is yes. She would be proud.”_

Oswald’s right hand crashes on the piano, creating a loud, disharmonic chord, as he starts feeling a sudden sense of anger. He looks back at Ed, reminding himself of the fact that _he_ is the one in power right now. Sadly enough, it doesn’t really make a difference how Oswald is acting in front of Ed, as the Riddler is in a frozen coma anyway. Therefore, Oswald tries to shake it off and dedicate himself to the instrument again. Softly this time, he plays the G-note, attempting to recreate the infamous song that he’s caught himself humming several nights in a row by now.

G, then E, F, G, A. No, A minor. It’s been quite a while since he got to play it on the piano. Nevertheless, he proceeds to figure out the melody and eventually starts singing alongside, his voice sounding more like a whisper than an actual singing voice.

__

_“The fire’s gone out…wet from snow above…”_

He takes a deep breath.

__

_“But nothing will warm me more…than my…my mother’s love…”_

There he is, surrounded by complete loneliness, clinging to an old memory and performing for an audience unable to listen to his music. Yet at the same time, Oswald Cobblepot doesn’t feel the emptiness that he has gotten used to throughout the years. It's a weird feeling of warmth instead. Warmth that bruns like it could melt the ice and turn the lullaby into a potential duet. Maybe, just maybe, his trophy is able to perceive some of his surroundings. In that case, Oswald should probably stop making a fool of himself and get back to his everyday business.

However, he continues to play and, strangely enough, ends up enjoying this intimate moment, although he would never openly admit it. Not that a confession would be necessary. After all, this is just a simple Sunday Morning. A short, emotional breath that no one is ever going to notice.


End file.
